


As Blue as the Sky, As Deep as the Ocean

by Jenn0509



Series: All in the Family [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Brilliant Child, Complete, Drug Addiction, Drugged Sex, Emotionally Repressed, F/M, Johnlock - Freeform, Kidnapping, Learning to Parent, M/M, Making Out, Multi, Parent-Child Relationship, Parenthood, Parentlock, Past Child Abuse, Past Drug Use, Past Relationship(s), Past Underage Sex, Polyamory, Post-The Reichenbach Fall, Protective John, Seizures, Switching, Threesome - F/M/M, teen mother
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-25
Updated: 2014-04-05
Packaged: 2018-01-02 15:49:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 17,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1058640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jenn0509/pseuds/Jenn0509
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post RF- John's days have passed in relative obscurity since Sherlock died, but one evening, he finds a young woman and her child on the front steps of 221 Baker Street. Kate Tyler, Mrs Hudson's niece, is seeking help from her beloved aunt, but the child, Emma, with all too familiar blue eyes is seeking something only John can help her with. She sees through him, and he can only dread when she finally asks what he already knows: "Who is my father?".</p><p>---------<br/>She stepped away from the women and faced him, holding out a steady hand, “Hello, sir. I’m Emma Tyler. You’re bored, aren’t you?”</p><p>“P-pardon?” John stuttered, staring at the girl with Sherlock's eyes.</p><p>(Prequel in development)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Flaked with Gold

John had just finished another long day at the clinic and was looking forward to passing out in his bed in 221B Baker Street. That’s how his days had gone since they’d buried Sherlock six months ago. John would get up, get dressed, eat a light breakfast with Mrs. Hudson in her flat, take a cab to work, see patients, fumble for his cane halfway through the day, furiously do his paperwork until five, and finally, if he was lucky, go home to Mrs. Hudson’s cooking. Not his chef, she claimed, but every time he came home, there was a plate set on her table for him.

He stepped out of his cab in front of 221B and paused. There was a figure on the front porch, huddled under a black rain slicker. John approached slowly, his hand flicking to where his gun should have been. “Um...excuse me?”

A blonde head popped up, “Oh, thank God. Do you live in 221?”

John stared at the young woman. She was beautiful, wavy shoulder length pale blonde hair framing a heart shaped face, she stared back at him with ocean blue eyes, a hopeful smile on her lips, one thin eyebrow quirked up in anticipation. “Uh...yeah, yeah I do. John Watson. And uh, you are?”

“Kate. Mary Hudson is my great aunt, she told me a while back that she had a flat open still, but the key isn’t where she said it would be.” She explained.

John was surprised, no family had ever come to see Mrs. Hudson before, “You’re Mrs. Hudson’s niece?”

She nodded, shifting the black bulk draped across her lap, “Great niece, yeah. My grandmother is her older sister.” She squinted up at him, “Do you think you could let me in?”

John shifted his weight from one foot to the other, his leg acting up. “I don’t have a key to Mrs. Hudson’s flat, and I really wouldn’t feel comfortable letting you in if I did.”

Kate smiled, pulling the parka over her head where it had slipped down, “I understand, and I’m glad my aunt has someone looking after her like that. Are there any places nearby I could duck into to get out of the rain? Speedy’s kicked me out after my third hour of sitting there. The owner’s been glaring at us ever since.”

“Us?” John asked.

Kate nodded, pulling on a corner of the fabric in her lap, and instantly John realized something he’d missed about the scene. The black bulk had a pair of trainers poking out of the far end, and in Kate’s lap, was a little girl with a head of long red hair. Kate ran a hand across the sleeping child’s hair, “My daughter, Emma.” Her mouth pressed into a tight line, very different from the smile that he’d seen so far. “We ran out of cash for cabs, so we did a lot of walking before the rain started. We ran three blocks to get here when the rain began. She’s exhausted.”

John dug in his pocket for his keys. “I’ve been rude, please, you can come in and wait for Mrs. Hudson in my flat.”

“Really? Thank you so much.” Kate said, the smile returning to her face. She brushed the little girl’s hair from her face, still being careful to keep the rain off her child, “Emma, time to get up and get out of the rain.” The child made no movement to acknowledge she’d heard her mother. Kate sighed, “She gets like this. She’ll stay up for days at a time and then sleep like she’s dead.”

John was tempted to check the little girl’s pulse. Her hair was bright red, and fell oddly straight against her face before suddenly twisting into ringlets at her shoulders. The bright color of her hair contrasted starkly with her skin. She was as white as a sheet of paper, and her stillness made it seem like she was a little corpse. Only the steady rise and fall of her chest and the bright pink of her lips belied that she was alive.

Wether Kate found his quiet observation of her child odd or not, she sat the girl up against her and looked at him, “She’s gotten a bit too heavy for me to carry while she’s asleep. Would you mind terribly carrying her in?” John picked the girl up, instantly surprised with how heavy she was. Kate laughed, “Emma’s tall for her age, all bone. She’s only seven, but I can see her being far taller than I am.” Kate followed him up to the flat and thanked him profusely for hauling her gangly seven year old up the stairs.

“Where are the rest of your things?” John asked when he’d draped the girl across the sofa.

Kate gestured to the bag she’d carried up, “That’s all I could grab before my father threw us out. Mostly Emma’s things, but we each have some extra clothes. I’ll have to go to the bank tomorrow and find out if my father emptied my accounts this time or not.”

“Why would your father empty your accounts?” John asked.

Kate rolled her dark blue eyes at him, “Ever heard of Edward Tyler?”

John tilted his head, “The high profile lawyer?”

“The very same. I’m Kaitlyn Tyler, his wayward daughter. He tried to make me send Emma away to boarding school, and I balked. I’m not about to let my father manhandle me into hiding my daughter like she’s some sort of terrible mistake that I should be embarrassed of. Needless to say, I ran my mouth a bit more than I probably should have, he said and did things that should never have been done in front of a child, I called him out on it, and he told me I could take my opinions and my child elsewhere.” Kate explained sharply.

“I’m confused, why would your father feel that way about his granddaughter?” He asked, watching Kate as she gently moved her daughter’s head into her lap.

Kate kissed Emma’s temple, “Mr. Watson, I’m twenty-five. I was a minor when Emma was born. According to her birth certificate, Emma’s parents are my father and step-mother. I actually wouldn’t be surprised at all if my father sends the Yard after us. That’s why I came here, Auntie hates my father, and I know she’ll back me up.” She shook her head, “Anyway, tell me about yourself. I feel I’ve been talking too much.”

John let a smile edge onto his face, “Well, I’m a doctor...”

Two hours later, Mrs. Hudson popped up into 221B. “John, you wanted me to come up?”

Kate eased Emma off her lap and stood up, walking past John, “Hello, Auntie.”

John watched Mrs. Hudson carefully, pleased to see the look of awe pass over her face as she opened her arms and embraced the younger female, “Oh, Katie. How are you?”

Kate relaxed against her great aunt, “Awful.”

Mrs. Hudson pulled back, a scowl on her face, “It’s that terrible father of yours again, isn’t it? Your mother was too good for him, that man is absolute rubbish. I tried to tell her, but she wouldn’t have it. What did he do this time?”

“He was going to try to make me send Emma away.” Kate said, tears filling her eyes.

Mrs. Hudson looked past John, “Is that little Emma? Last I saw, she was still toddling about!”

A streak of red hair rushed past John and the child burrowed herself between her mother and great-great aunt. “Hullo, Auntie.”

John started at the girl’s voice. While Kate sounded like any other young woman from somewhere near Sloane Street who had spent a great deal of time in London, Emma’s voice was decidedly less Sloaney and more Cockney. And very, very familiar in tone. Her voice was unusually steady for a seven year old child.

When she looked up at him, he knew.

No one else had ever looked at him with eyes like those.

Emma’s eyes weren’t the deep endless ocean blue of her mother’s, they were pale, and flaked with gold. It wasn’t the color that got him though, it was the way she seemed to be looking straight at his soul, like she knew everything about him in one glance.

She stepped away from the women and faced him, holding out a steady hand, “Hello, sir. I’m Emma Tyler. You’re bored, aren’t you?”

“P-pardon?” John stuttered, staring at the girl.

She gave him a smile, looking more like Kate, “It’s obvious, you’re wearing the same tie you’ve worn for the last week, but not because you’ve been out with friends, but because you’ve been sleeping on your sofa instead of in your bedroom. You’ve got a cane in your hand, but you aren’t using it to support yourself right now, so I can only assume that you’re crazy or...”

Kate clapped a hand over her daughter’s mouth, laughing nervously, “Sorry, Emma tends to say too much.”

John laughed in amazement, “No, it’s fine. She’s...amazing.”

Mrs. Hudson sidled up to Kate, an unsettled look on her face, “Why don’t we go down the stairs and leave John to rest. We can catch up and Emma can tell me more of her delightful stories.”

One corner of Emma’s mouth quirked up and she kept her eyes steadily on John, “It’s not a story if it’s the truth.”

Kate narrowed her eyes at John, picking her daughter up and propping her on her hip. She started whispering to her aunt the instant the women turned away. Emma, on the other hand, kept her eyes on John until she was out of the flat.

John fell to his knees, his head aching. She was Sherlock’s child. There couldn’t be any doubt. So many of her features were Kate, but her eyes and mind, they were all Sherlock. Or Mycroft, he admitted, that would explain the red hair, although he couldn’t see how Kate and Mycroft would have ever run in the same circles. Regardless, Emma was a Holmes. He could feel it.

When he found her studying Sherlock’s skull from the mantel place, he was even more certain. “Emma, what are you doing?”

“I was just looking at him.” She replied, her eyes never leaving the skull.

“Him?” John asked, settling into the arm chair next to her.

Briefly, Emma’s eyes flickered in his direction, but she nodded slowly, “This skull. I’ve determined from the dimensions that it belong to a male, possibly of caucasian descent. I’m only just learning about skeletal markers though, so I could be completely wrong.” She seemed to catch herself, and hurriedly put the skull back in it’s place. “I’m sorry. I’m not supposed to touch other peoples things...or dead bodies. Mum’s afraid I’ll catch something.”

John shook his head, a smile on his face, “You won’t catch anything from Yorick.”

“Yorick? Like from Hamlet?” Emma asked, staring at him in awe.

John saw movement in the corner of his eye, “Oh dear, you’ve got her talking about Shakespeare now. We’ll be here all night.”

Emma’s lower lip jutted out in indignation, “Mum!”

Kate laughed, “I’m only teasing, love.” Kate picked up the skull, “Yorick, huh? Didn’t really see you as one to keep a skull on the mantle. Surprised I didn’t notice it earlier.”

“He’s not mine.” John said in a rush. “He belonged to my uh...old flatmate. I’ve been meaning to toss him out, but...”

Kate raised an eyebrow, “No judgement, Dr. Watson. I’m the one with the seven year old whole likes to analyze dead things.” She bent down to kiss the top of Emma’s head, “Love, what have we said about touching things that don’t belong to us?”

Emma pouted, “Not to.”

“There’s a good girl. And didn’t I tell you not to come up here and bother the good doctor?” Kate scolded, but it hardly reached her eyes, and her lips were quirked up in the corners.

Emma looked over at John, “I don’t think I’m bothering him.”

John smiled at Kate, “She’s not. And uh...if she likes the skull, she can have it.”

Kate smiled back at him, “That’s a kind gesture, but if you give her that thing, she’ll stop talking to the rest of us.”

“Mum!” The girl shrieked again in protest.

“Emma, you know I’m right.” Kate countered.

Emma’s red eyebrows bunched together in consternation. “I suppose. As my mother, you do have a wealth of first hand and instinctual experience with my responses to outside stimuli.”

Kate glanced nervously at John, but he was just staring at her daughter like he’d seen a ghost. He smiled when he noticed her gaze, but didn’t say anything to her. “How about this, Emma, you can play with Yorick when you’re in 221B. Does that sound good?”

She looked hopefully up at her mother, “I think that will satisfy all parties in need...”

Kate sighed, tapping the end of her daughter’s nose, “Okay, love, but you won’t come up here and bother Dr. Watson at all hours of the night and day, alright? It would be awfully unfortunate if you couldn’t visit Yorick anymore because you upset Dr. Watson.”

John smiled at the two females, “I don’t think either of you could ever upset me.”

Emma beamed, and Kate blushed, “Emma, why don’t you go see if Auntie needs help fixing supper?”

“Okay!?” Emma chirped, surging forward to throw her arms around John’s neck for an instant before she flitted down the stairs.

Kate chuckled at the stunned look on John’s face. “She likes to hug. I’m sorry.”

John shook his head, “No, don’t apologize. She’s a sweet girl.”

Kate looked wistfully towards the door, “Yeah, she is. I’d like to think I haven’t totally mucked up raising her. My Auntie mentioned that you’ve been taking care of after her every ache and pain since you’ve moved in.” John nodded, and Kate sighed, sitting down across from him, “Do you think you could look at one of mine?”

John nodded, “Of course.” Kate pulled up her black blouse, and John sucked in a sharp breath of air. “Oh my God.”

Kate laughed breathlessly, “Yeah, hurts like hell.”

He knelt in front of her and probed the dark bruise splayed across the bottom of her ribcage. “What happened?”

“I fell.” Kate answered instantly.

John’s eyes snapped to her face, “This is a boot print, Miss Tyler. I very sincerely doubt you fell this hard onto someone’s boot.”

“My father’s an ass, but I’ve never let him put a hand on Emma.” Kate said, eyes dark.

“Your father beats you?” John asked, probing the injury again and watching her wince. He felt so surely that there was Holmes in Emma, but he could be projecting his loss onto the two girls. “Miss Tyler, is your father Emma’s father?”

Kate glared at him and flinched away, “No, my father has never touched me like that. He’s simply content to beat me.” Her gaze softened, “I’m not sure who Emma’s father is, not really. I ran away for a year when I was seventeen. I went to America, got into drugs, and then I got hit by a car. I was fine for the most part, but when I was in the hospital, they told me I was pregnant.” Kate watched him as he went into the freezer and grabbed a bag of peas. “Thank you.” She said softly when he held it to her ribs. “Anyway, I’d detoxed enough in the hospital to know I couldn’t keep doing what I was doing, so I came back to London. At first, my father was happy I was home and that he could claim another child as his to hopefully raise better than he raised me. Until she was talking, everything was great. After though, he realized that Emma’s different, and he became decidedly less enchanted. She’s too bright for him to manipulate.” She shifted and then John noticed how she winced slightly every time she moved. “He resumed beating me shortly after that.”

“You probably have a cracked rib or two.” John said softly.

Kate nodded, “I figured. It’s not the first time. Nothing you can do for that.”

“Probably not, but you should have some tests run to make sure he didn’t do more damage.” John told her, searching through his things for a pressure bandage long enough to wrap around her for some support. “You should tell the police about him.”

“He’s a lawyer, he’d have me committed before that, and I’ll never let him get his hands on Emms.” Kate said, straightening her back as he got closer with a roll of gauze.

“I can see how much you love her.” John said gently, winding the gauze around her thin frame and trying to ignore how pretty her smooth skin was. Everything about Kate was pretty though. John fervently reminded himself that he was nearly ten years older than her, and if anything, she would see him as a sagely uncle living up the stairs. So he was stunned when, after he’d tied off the gauze, Kate leaned down and kissed the corner of his mouth.

“Thank you. Dr. Watson.” She pulled her shirt down and stood, “Oh, and please, call me Kate.”

John forced himself to come up from his knees, “Alright then, you’ll call me John.”

Kate smiled, “I’d like that.” She laughed softly, “Most people are frightened by Emma, but not you. It’ll be nice to get to know someone who’s not terrified of my child.”

“She’s just a little girl.” John said softly.

Kate nodded, “And I do love her, so very, very much. She deserves more than I could ever give her, but it’s my job to make sure she grows into a young woman that can use all that intellect to get somewhere in the world.” John moved towards her to comfort her, and she laughed unexpectedly, startling him, “Look there. Your limp, it’s gone.”

John looked down, a genuine smile on his face for the first time since Sherlock died, “Ah, I suppose it is.”

“Emma will be pleased.” She said, brushing another kiss against his lips before turning away, “Goodnight, John. I’m so glad we’re neighbors.”


	2. Little Jeweled Box

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emma meets Molly at St. Barts!

Kate was interviewing at Speedy’s, and Mrs Hudson was running errands, so John had been tasked with fetching Emma from school. He didn’t have to, per say, Kate had insisted that Emma could have waited on Mrs Hudson, but John hadn’t liked the look Emma had on her face when she came home from school the Friday before, on the last day of her first week. Kate had been at a loss for her child’s sour mood, but John was determined to discover why Emma had looked so hollow.

The instant he approached the school yard, he knew. None of the older children paid him any mind, they didn’t recognize them, not like they’d so obviously recognized Kate, even from a distance, “Oiy! Carrot top! Is your mum a hooker? She’s pretty like one, and she’d have to be in trouble to have a kid so old as you.” One boy taunted her, obviously many years older than Emma. Emma sat on a bench, her bag clutched to her chest and her chin down. John approached just as one boy was winding up to kick her. He put a hand on the youth’s shoulder.

“Excuse me.” John said, using a hard commanding voice he hadn’t used since his time in the military. The youth under his hand stilled and made a small squeaking sound John took great pleasure in. He smiled at the “Emma, love, are you ready to go?”

Emma’s eyes were filled with tears, and she burst from her seat, throwing her arms around his waist with a cry, “John!”

The first boy sneered, “Aww, is this your daddy? I bet he bought your mum the night they made you.”

John pinned the boy with a hard gaze, “Young man, I would very much suggest you keep your mouth closed. I’m a friend of Emma and her mother, and I find it very deplorable that you would talk about two lovely ladies like that.” He drug his eyes across all of the boys, “I trust this won’t happen again?” The boys nodded in unison, and John picked Emma up. He knew with his short frame and her long limbs, they looked odd, but he couldn’t imagine letting her keep crying in front of the heathens.

“Thank you.” Emma whispered when they got to the door of 221 and he put her down.

John smiled, and pat the top of her head fondly, “It’s no trouble, Emma. You’ll do the same for me one day?”

She grinned, wiping her face, and waving at her mother who was looking panicked from Speedy to her crying child, “For sure.”

“Come on, let’s see what homework you’ve got.” He said, ushering her inside and up the stairs, giving Kate a reassuring nod.

“It’s already done!” Emma called back, taking the steps two at a time.

John sighed, “Left my cane at the school. Bugger.”

Emma turned back at the top of the stairs, “Oh, John, you don’t need it. Shoulder wound!”

John chuckled, “Alright, I’ll leave the cane.” He paused on the first step, “How did you know it was my shoulder?”

“Mum told me!” Emma called, and he heard her backpack thud to the floor and the sound of her jumping onto the sofa a second later.

John sighed and trudged up the stairs making as much noise as he could to elicit a giggle from the girl. In the last few months, he and Kate had grown incredibly close. She listened to his war stories unflinchingly, and held his hand every time she knew he needed her touch. He’d actually asked Mrs Hudson’s permission to court her great niece, and the old woman had been so excited she’d dropped a tray of tea when she threw herself across the room to hug him half to death.

Once Emma had started school for the year, Kate had lasted two days before insisting that she go looking for a job. She’d been searching for a job for over a week, but they’d still made time to go out to supper with just the two of them twice. They’d been delightful evenings, and, ever blunt, Kate had taken it upon herself to end the first date with a longwinded speech about how she could care less about their age gap. She’d ended, her ocean blue eyes wide, and had kissed him fiercely after he muttered, “Well alright then”.

Emma seemed pleased, and, at Kate’s behest, John had made it a point to spend time with Emma, teaching her things about anatomy and answering any question that popped into her head. The seven year old was stretched out on the sofa, striking a pose not unlike the ones Sherlock had frequented, her fingers steepled, her eyes fixed in the open space above her.

John settled in his favorite chair and began reading the newspaper. “John, I have a question.” She said after an immeasurable stretch of blissfully peaceful time had passed.

“What’s it, Emma?” John responded, looking up from the paper and glancing back at her.

“Who is my father?”

John froze, an icy sensation filling every part of him. Emma stared at him with Sherlock’s eyes, “Uh...Emma...I...ugh...God...I...He....”

Kate spared him from answering or passing out from the fright of the girl’s question when she burst through the door, “Speedy hired me!” The blonde skid across the floor of the flat straight to John, kissing him firmly, “John, I got the job! I know it’s not much and the pay is mostly rubbish, but I got the job! My first job without my father meddling!”

She was bubbling with excitement, so John smiled at her, “Congratulations, love. I knew you’d find something quickly. When do you start?”

She grinned infectiously, hugging Emma tightly when the girl skipped forward to hug her mother. “First thing in the morning.” She kissed the top of Emma’s head, “I’ll be off to pick you up from school on Monday though, so don’t you worry.”

Emma glanced at John, “Can John still pick me up on Fridays?”

Kate looked to John, who nodded, “Sure, sweetheart, so long as he’s not busy with his work.”

John and Emma shared a look, and he was certain that she wouldn’t ask him again who her father was. No, she was like Sherlock, she already knew that he knew the answer, so she’d be content to let him stew in it until one day he just came out with it and told her. It was possible too, that she already knew the answer to her question, she just wanted him to confirm her theory. Regardless, he’d hold onto that secret for as long as he possibly could. He couldn’t fathom telling Emma that the father she was so desperate to find was dead and seen as a fraud by more than half the country.

Mrs Hudson cooked supper for them all in celebration of Kate’s new job, and since it was a Friday night, Emma stayed up late, reading a book whilst curled up between Kate and John on the sofa while they watched the telly. Just before midnight, Kate stood, bringing her daughter with her, “Come on, love, time for us to go downstairs to bed.”

Emma started to speak, but stopped. She started clicking her tongue softly against the roof of her mouth, and she swayed for an instant before her limbs jerked to her body, her eyes rolled back in her head and she toppled to the ground, a scream of fright issuing from her mouth. Had he not been a doctor, John would have freaked out.

Kate was next to her on the floor an instant before John was, and together they put the convulsing Emma on her side. “John, she’s got emergency medication in her satchel. A little jeweled box.” Kate said softly, putting a blanket from the sofa under Emma’s head.

John rummaged through the girl’s bag, finding the rectangular box under a wad of paper covered in math formulas. He handed it to Kate, taking care not to let Emma kick him as he settled on the floor next to her. Kate quickly opened the box and pulled out a little white oval pill and jammed it into Emma’s mouth. “Midazolam?” John asked.

Kate nodded, brushing Emma’s hair out of her face, “She hasn’t had a seizure like this in a while.” She kissed the side of Emma’s face, “Oh, sweetheart, I should have known you were close.” She gave John a mournful look, tears in her eyes, “She hasn’t really slept for the last three nights. I-I should have made her sleep.”

“It’s not your fault, Kate. I see no reason why she won’t grow out of them.” John said. Emma was unnaturally intelligent, but there were no underlying conditions. Statistically, the seizures would taper off in frequency the older she got.

Kate sighed heavily, rubbing Emma’s back soothingly as the seizure subsided, “Part of the fun of not knowing who her father is. I have no idea what sort of genes he passed down to her. Christ, I have my genealogy back to the Tudors, but we have nothing on him. Although I think it’s safe to gander that he’s tall and light eyed.” She shook her head, “Would you go hail a cab? We should take her to a hospital so they can monitor her for the night. I know the drill.”

John nodded, kissing Kate’s temple as he stood, “I’ll come back up to get her once I get the cab.” In the end, he had the cab take them to St. Barts, and focused entirely on the little girl in his arms as he walked quickly past the spot her father had died on.

Kate was filling out the ER forms while John held Emma, unused to her seeming so small. Her personality made her seem so much larger, more grown up. In reality, she was only just over a hundred and seventeen centimeters tall. He marveled at how far they’d all come over the summer. Kate and Emma had brightened 221B so much that sometimes, he forgot the aching gap that was Sherlock. He couldn’t imagine losing either of them. As much as it sometimes hurt, seeing Sherlock in Emma, she was all that he had left of his flatmate.

“She’ll be okay, John.” Kate said, rubbing a hand up and down John’s arm. “When she was a baby, it was terrifying, but they’ve gotten loads better. Less frequent too.”

John gave a small smile, “I can’t imagine.”

Kate put her head on his shoulder and curled up in her chair like a child. He knew she couldn’t be comfortable, not really, but she seemed content just to be near him and tracing patterns on the back of Emma’s arm. Emma herself was still unconscious, but had knotted his vest between her fingers.

“Emma Tyler?” A nurse called from the sterile double doors.

“Here!” Kate said, springing up like the dancer she’d been in her younger years.

John stood slower, Emma’s weight affecting his phantom leg pain. He pushed it aside. Emma’d already told him he didn’t need the damn cane, she’d only be cross if he went back for it. The nurse gestured for him to lay Emma down on a gurney while shooting rapid fire questions to Kate. “You’re her father?”

John blinked a few times before realizing the nurse was talking to him, and felt his face flush, “Uh...no, no, not really. Someday though.”

His eyes found Kate’s, and she smiled wildly. “Definitely.”

They stood outside the room as the doctors and nurses hooked Emma up to over half a dozen machines. Kate squeezed his hand, “I think I saw a loo a ways back. I’ll be back.”

John nodded, kissing the back of her hand. “I’ll be here with Emma.”

He kept watch, gazing around the hospital hallway. It was strange to be on the other side of the glass. At the clinic, things felt so different. Here, he had no control. He was the troublesome hospital visitor because he felt the need to point out any and all errors. Since they’d gone from the waiting room to the bed, John had gotten himself labeled as a problem by the hospital staff. The nurses were giving him an intentionally wide berth.

“John?”

He turned slowly at the voice he hadn’t heard in many months, “Molly.”

The pathologist smiled at him, “It’s good to see you, John.” She looked into the room in front of him, “One of your patients?”

John shook his head, “No, she’s uh...my girlfriend’s daughter.”

“You have a girlfriend?” Molly said, baffled.

John scratched the back of his neck, “Yeah, I do, and she’s great, they’re great.”

“John?” He heard again, and saw Emma was awake, blinking in confusion.

John gestured for Molly to go into the room, and then he went straight to Emma, “I’m right here, sweetheart.”

She gripped his hand tightly, “Where’s my mum?”

“In the loo.” He smiled over his shoulder at Molly, “Emma, this is my friend Molly Hooper. Molly, this is Emma Tyler.”

Molly stared at Emma, and then looked at John, eyes wide in panic. She’d seen it, Sherlock in the little red haired girl. Emma was still tired, but John could almost see her file Molly’s reaction away as she said, “Pleasure to meet you, m’am.”

Molly was shaking, but forced a smile, “Same, Emma, but please, call me Molly.”

The last nurse slid out of the room as Kate came back in. She eyed the other woman suspiciously, but kept her voice pleasant, “John, who’s your friend?”

“This is Molly. She’s a pathologist down in the coroners office, and a good friend. Molly, this is Kate, my girlfriend.” John explained, wary of the cold expression Kate was giving a wilting Molly.

Emma glared at her mother, “Mum, play nicely.”

Kate softened instantly, “Oh, love, I’m sorry.” She sat next to her daughter, brushing fiery hair out of her eyes, “Does your head hurt?”

Emma nodded, “I’ve had worse though.” She smiled weakly, “I didn’t bite my tongue.”

Kate laughed, “That’s a relief. I know you hate it when you can’t articulate properly.”

Emma giggled softly, and looked at Molly, who looked panickedly at John. “Miss Molly, what’s it like being a pathologist?”

John and Kate laughed, and Molly seemed baffled, “Um, it’s nice I guess. I keep busy.”

“What...” Emma began, but Kate shushed her.

“Em, you need to rest, and I’m sure Molly needs to get to work.” John winced at Kate’s apparent desire to see his friend gone, but she smiled at Molly, “Really, if you let her get started, you’ll be here for hours. She’s a voracious learner, and for that reason loves new people. You should have heard her interrogating John our first week at 221, it was hilarious.”

John chuckled, “She got so invested, she followed me to the loo, and continued to talk outside the door.”

Molly seemed to relax, smiling at Emma, “Your mum’s right, I’ve got to get back to work, but I’ll make sure to come and see you before I leave in the morning.”

“I’d like that.” Emma said, stifling a yawn. Kate checked her wristwatch nervously, and Emma caught it, “Mum, go home. I’ll be fine. John will stay with me. You’ve got work in the morning. And you need to tell Auntie what happened. She’ll worry.”

Kate pursed her lips, “Sometimes I wonder who’s in charge.” She kissed her daughter’s cheek, “I’ll go home, but I’ll be back here right after my shift. Mind the doctors and nurses, and don’t give John or Molly too much trouble.”

Emma grinned, “I’ll try.”

“We’ll be fine, Kate.” John assured, waving at Molly as she snuck out of the room.

Kate kissed him, picking up her bag, “Ring if anything happens.”

“We’ll be okay, Mum.” Emma said, yawing again. Kate left, and John settled in for a long night on a spare hospital cot. Although, he’d had far worse sleeping accommodations, he kept waking himself up every half hour to make sure Emma was still breathing.

Early in the morning, he woke to soft voices. Molly and Emma were playing some sort of finger game, and the little girl was trying desperately not to giggle loud enough to wake him. He stretched, bones clicking in his spine, “Morning ladies.”

Molly and Emma smiled broadly at him, and Molly said, “Morning, John. I was just telling Emma I needed some tea. Are you up for a cuppa?”

John sighed internally at the look on her face, but nodded, “Sure, Molly. Emma, let me see what we can get you.”

Ten minutes later, Molly and John were again standing at the window looking into the room, watching Emma’s doctor put her through a variety of tests. John could feel Molly’s eyes on him, “Are we going to talk about her?”

“Emma?” John said, shaking his head, “No, Molly, no we are not.”

“We should.” Molly said.

“We’re not.” John replied.

“We are.” Molly said firmly, giving up all pretenses of looking into the room and turning to face him directly. “She’s brilliant.”

“There’s lots of brilliant children, Molly.”

The mousy woman sighed heavily, “Not with eyes like those, not to mention her cheekbones. She looks a lot like her mother, but...”

“Enough, Molly.” John said raising his voice. Molly’s seemingly newfound gumption fled, and she visibly shrank at his tone. John looked at the floor, “I’m sorry, Molly. It’s just...”

“You don’t want to have to tell her that her father’s dead.” Molly finished gently.

He saw something flicker in her eyes, “Yeah, it’d break both of us. She’d be devastated.” He pinched his eyes closed, “It’s still so hard to believe he’s gone. I still half expect him to come through the door shouting about a case. Emma and Kate don’t need that grief.”

Molly squeezed his hand, looking tired for the first time, “I’m so sorry, John. You have no idea how sorry I am.” He watched her, flummoxed, as she walked down the hallway.

They took Emma home late in the afternoon, but John couldn’t shake what he’d seen in Molly’s eyes. Guilt.


	3. Let's Go Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock arrives!

Mycroft was baffled when John called, panicked about his girlfriend’s daughter being snatched from school, “Why would someone assume I would pay ransom for a child I’ve no relation to?”

John gripped Kate’s arm firmly to keep her attention on him as he finally spilled the secret he’d been harboring from her since the day they met, “Mycroft, I have multiple reasons to believe that eight years ago, your brother...had intercourse with a young woman named Kate Tyler.”

Kate tried to tug away from him, staring at him in shock, “John? What are you saying?”

John pinched his eyes closed, “Kate, I should have told you, but I just... By the time I felt close enough to you two to comment about it, I was already in love with you. I couldn’t break Emma’s heart by telling her the father she’s desperate for has been dead for over eight months.”

Mycroft was staring at the little girl in the video, the one with red hair and a determined air that exclaimed she was not about to let her captors see her as weak and fearful. The fire in those eyes was a familiar one, and he knew John was right. “She’s my niece.”

“Yes!” John exclaimed, “Yes, Mycroft. She really is just like Sherlock. Just as brilliant, but she’s got Kate’s compassion. She’s the most wonderful child I’ve ever known.” He took both of Kate’s hands in his, “And you, Kate Tyler are the most amazing woman I’ve ever met. I love you.”

Her eyebrows furrowed, and with her face still damp with tears, she looked livid, but sighed, throwing herself forward to embrace him, “I love you too, John. I’m right pissed at you for not telling me about Emma’s father, but I know you’ve got your reasons.” She clenched his shirt in her hands, pressing her face into his shoulder to take in the comforting smell of him, “God, John. We’ve got to get her back.”

“I know, love, and I think Mycroft is going to help with that.” John looked at the politician over Kate’s shoulder, the latter giving a slow nod. Mycroft spent three straight hours on the phone, every once and a while stopping to look at the very young woman who had birthed his brother’s child. John never left her side, and even Mycroft could tell that she was just as mad about him as he was her. Not once did she so much as let John move even an inch away, keeping her fingers laced with his.

Mycroft had Anthea take the little girl’s toothbrush to Molly Hooper’s lab, waiting anxiously for the results. He let out a ragged sigh when a text from Anthea read, “Paternity confirmed: Sherlock Holmes.” After that, Mycroft lit a fire under all of the people he’d set to work on the case.

Kate was barely holding it together, so when Mrs. Hudson insisted Kate have a cup of tea, he wasn’t shocked to see her slip something into Kate’s cup, “Here you are, dear.” Mrs. Hudson said to her own niece, passing her the dosed cup.

Kate gave a weak smile, “Thank you, Auntie.”

Mrs. Hudson smiled, “Oh, Katie, they’ll find her. Mycroft here may lack a certain civility, but he’s very good at this sort of thing. And Emma, she’s a tenacious little girl. I wouldn’t doubt it if they begged us to take her back.”

Kate chuckled softly, “You’re probably right. I know she get’s on people’s nerves, but, Auntie, she’s my little girl. I don’t know how to be a good person without her.”

“You won’t have to find out, Miss Tyler.” Mycroft said firmly, noticing the faded track marks on the inside of her right arm. So that was how she and Sherlock had crossed paths. He’d been wondering how his eccentric, high brother had met a wealthy girl who seemed so well put together. Drugs. He could have judged her for it, but that would have been like judging Sherlock, and he would die before he did that. The public might have spat on his brother’s grave, but he wasn’t about to. Mycroft glanced at a photo on Mrs. Hudson’s wall. Emma, smiling and wrapped in her mother’s arms, John placing a kiss on Kate’s forehead, holding them both. Emma certainly appeared a happier child than Sherlock had been.

“That was Christmas.” John said softly, taking the tea cup from Kate’s hands as her eyes bobbed shut. “Mrs. Hudson caught us like that in front of the fireplace, insisted we let her take a picture.”

“How old is Kate?” Mycroft asked as John settled the blonde woman across his lap.

John winced, “She’s twenty-five.”

Mycroft cursed, “Bugger, Sherlock. What was she, eighteen?”

John moved his hand over her head soothingly, “More or less. She’ll be twenty-six in two weeks. Emma won’t be eight for another three months. Any news?”

“Someone spotted a girl matching Emma’s description in a toy shop with three men. They thought it odd looking enough to call the police.” Mycroft answered.

John quirked a small grin, “They were probably trying to get her a toy to shut her up. Emma’s more fond of Rubix cubes and learning to speak Cantonese than she is playing princess with stuffed animals.” His eyes suddenly jerked to Mycroft, “What did they buy her?”

Mycroft frowned, pulling out his phone, “A yo-yo and a set of metal jacks.”

John paled, “Oh no.”

“What?” Mycroft asked, standing up.

“She’s going to try to escape on her own. Mycroft, she may be nearly as intelligent as Sherlock was, but she’s a little girl and she’s on her own. If she’s not careful, she could get hurt.” He looked at the picture of the three of them on the wall, “I can’t let her get hurt, Mycroft. Losing Emma would kill Kate. She was headed down a really bad path until she got pregnant, and she made the choice to put Emma first. Emma is always first in Kate’s life. Kate is one of those mothers who would die if it meant she could keep her child safe. I can’t lose them both.”

“You won’t.”

John almost died at the voice, and Mycroft looked closer to a heart attack than he’d ever been, cake or no cake.

Sherlock Holmes rounded the corner into the flat, his eyes narrowing in on the young woman draped across his doctor’s lap. “Her hair was red.” He looked up from her sleeping face, “Breath, John. Now’s not the time for you to be passing out.”

“You’re alive!” John exclaimed.

Sherlock’s lip curled up, “Yes, John. Really, have I taught you that little about deduction? Deplorable.”

Mycroft lost it, in a moment of unusual speed for his age and frame, he caught his younger brother off guard with his fist. Directly after his fist made impact with Sherlock’s jaw, he pulled him into a hug, cursing him the entire time.

Sherlock was frowning, touching his split lip, “Really, Mycroft. That’s terribly ill-mannered of you.” His eyes went to the picture on the wall, Yorick’s new position on the hearth instead of the mantel, and back to John, “She’s like me, is she?” John nodded mutely. Sherlock picked up Kate’s purse. “Where’s her medication?”

“What?” John asked.

“Medication, John! As a child I had epilepsy. There’s every likelihood my child would too.” Sherlock explained in his usual rapid fire speech.

“Clonazepam. Emma takes clonazepam.” John said, dread spreading through him like ice just as Sherlock came across the tiny jeweled box that held Emma’s emergency supply of pills. “Emma’s satchel got a hole in the bottom two days ago. She gave that to Kate because she was afraid it would fall out. Any other time, and she’d have it. Sherlock...”

“I know.” He said darkly, clenching his fist around the box. “She’s been gone for twenty two hours already. Signs of withdrawal will begin in the next two hours. Nausea, vomiting, anxiety, tremors, and if she’s very unlucky, the worst seizures she had in her life ending in a coma. She could very well die before we find her. Have the police been informed of her condition? As many of them as possible should be carrying carbamazepine to help counteract any withdrawal. St. Barts should be prepared. Mycroft, call Molly. She’s particularly competent.” He looked down at Kate again, “Did she have one of Mrs. Hudson’s soothers?”

“About twenty minutes ago.” John answered.

Sherlock scoffed, “Well she’s going to be useless.”

“Excuse me, useless? Sherlock, she’s the mother of your child.” John snapped.

“Exactly!” Sherlock snapped back, “She’s the child’s mother, John. She’d be the best resource for insight into the child.”

John had settled back down, looking steadily at his old flatmate, “Emma, Sherlock, your daughter’s name is Emma, and she’s not ‘the child’, she’s your child.”

Sherlock’s face went blank, and he stared at John, a look of realization dawning suddenly on his face, “They want money, but they couldn’t possibly know she’s a Holmes. It’s you, John. They knew you’d go to Mycroft to beg for money. That’s why the ransom isn’t extreme. All this is is a simple kidnapping.”

Mycroft shook his head, “Sherlock, whoever orchestrated this got you out of hiding. I think it’s foolish to think they didn’t know, or at least have an idea.”

Kate groaned, “I seem to be the only one who wasn’t right there when Sherlock was knocking me up.” Her eyes opened in a flash, landing on Sherlock, “Do you remember?”

Oh, yes, he remembered. He remembered the stoned look in her eyes, he remembered how amazing her body had felt against his, and more than anything, he remembered the feel of her as her virgin body had clenched around him. He’d picked her out specifically. For one, she’d been a pleasant surprise, a fellow Londoner getting high in America, and for another, while she seemed veteran with her drug use, she was very careful. He’d watched her for a week before approaching her, making as close to positive that she wasn’t going to pass along any sort of disease to him. He’d been quite pleased when he’d felt her virginity against his questing fingers.

The thought of her getting pregnant had never crossed his mind.

It should have. She’d been a young virgin. Fertile in every sense of the word. He should have known better. The little girl with red hair was proof that not even he was perfect.

“I remember. The blonde hair suits you.” He managed to say as she righted herself next to John.

Kate scoffed, “I had to stop dyeing it when I got pregnant. By the time I even thought about coloring it again, most of it had grown out, so I just left it. Imagine my surprise when Emma’s hair came in red.” She looked to Mycroft, “Although now, I suspect it’ll get darker as she gets older.” She squeezed John’s hand, “I’m sorry about earlier, falling apart like that, it’s pathetic. Not like me at all. I was just overwhelmed.”

John put his forehead against hers, “No one expects you to be stone, Kate. She’s your daughter.”

“She’s my life John, and I should be out fighting for it, not sitting in here drinking my aunt’s teas that with my drug history don’t work as they should.” Kate stood, and Sherlock saw the fire in her again.

“There’s that girl I met in New York. Are you ready to be useful?” Sherlock said, hoping to goad her into action.

“Yes.” Kate replied, her eyes flinty.

“Good.” Sherlock said back at her, “John, tell Kate what the child had her captors purchase.”

“Emma.” John corrected, “Kate, they bought her a yo-yo and a set of metal jacks.”

Kate closed her eyes and pressed her lips together, “She’s going to try to kill them.”

“What?” John and Mycroft exclaimed in unison.

Kate took in a ragged breath, “The reason my father wanted her to go to boarding school was because of her trying to protect me.” She laughed sardonically, “Emma has this insane need to protect me. I’m her mother. I should have been the one protecting her. My father was drunk, and he decided to take up his favorite past-time again, beating me. I was almost unconscious when Emma stood on a chair and jumped at him with a yo-yo in her hands. She strangled him until I finally got enough air in my own lungs to stop her. She’d have killed him, and if weren’t so bloody scared of her being taken away from me, I’d have let her.”

“I faked a suicide to protect the people I care about. I see no reason why my child wouldn’t be capable of murder to protect people she cares about.” Sherlock said easily, ignoring the horrified expression John had on his face.

Mycroft hummed, “Yes, we Holmes’ do have a tendency to overreact when our possessions are tampered with.”

“She never did play well with my brother’s kids.” Kate commented.

“Are you all bloody insane?” John yelled, “If she tries something, either way, it will end very, very badly. Do any of you want to explain how a seven year old girl is capable of murder? And what would that do to her developmentally?”

“At least she’d be alive to develop.” Kate said harshly, “That’s all that matters to me, is that my daughter lives through this.”

Sherlock sighed, “I assume there was a ransom demand. May I see it?”

Mycroft played the video for him, and he was stunned by the child. He’d seen the photographs around the flat, but she truly was just like him. As she spoke the words her captors had lined out, her eyes were hard. Most children would have been terrified, crying for their parents, but she wasn’t. And her eyes, she certainly had his eyes. “Morse code.” He realized excitedly, “Oh, she’s a brilliant little thing, isn’t she?” He snatched a book and pen up, flipped to a blank page, and started writing, “Oh, good girl, very good girl.” He looked over at Kate, “Glad to see being raised by someone average has by no means dulled her intellect. She was only hoping someone might be intelligent enough to realize what she was doing.”

Kate looked over his shoulder at the laptop, “Oh my God, she’s blinking out Morse code. I should have realized. Damnit, my head’s all over the place. I taught her that when she was little, almost before she was speaking in full sentences. We used to talk during dinner doing the same thing, but not in a year at least. I should have noticed. I really am a terrible mother.”

“Stress induced confusion. Not an uncommon reaction for mothers who cannot be with their children when they are in danger. I suspect during most times, you’re a rather astute young woman. Quite capable as a mother. More capable than the mother Mycroft and I share, without fail.” Sherlock said, and John stared, surprised that Sherlock hadn’t just called her stupid.

“Ah, yes, Sherlock. Mummy will be most displeased to learn that you’ve been alive all this time.” Mycroft said.

Sherlock tutted, “Well, I’ll have a grandchild for her to attempt to corrupt, so I imagine she’ll forgive me.” He grinned at his brother, “As always, I’ve beat you.”

“There’s no race to have children in this day and age.” Mycroft answered.

“You’re not getting any younger.” Sherlock said snidely, decoding the child’s message.

Mycroft sneered, “At least I’m not resorting to having sex with children, Sherlock. Did you know Miss Tyler was a minor when you engaged in coitus with her?”

“Forgive me, Mr. Holmes, but said minor is right here! I’d very much like to find my daughter, and to stop talking about my sordid past!” Kate snapped.

Sherlock stood, “They’re approximately a half mile from the London Eye. She can see it out a Western facing window. The building is old, but there’s a Starbucks below it.” He pulled out a map of London, pleased to note John had moved very little of his things. “Trafalgar Square.”

Just like old times, he and John were out the door, but this time, Kate was right on their heels. “Kate, you should stay here.”

The blonde rolled her eyes at her boyfriend, “John, I love you, I really do, but I am not about to let you two go after my daughter without me.”

They found the building, and John only had to shoot one guard who didn’t automatically run at the sight of Sherlock, the supposedly dead man. To his credit, Sherlock gave one man a fierce right hook that even John was impressed by.

“Mum!” Emma cried when the trio finally got to the room she was being held in.

The girl was shaking, and Sherlock approached slowly with a needle of carbamazepine. “This should stop those tremors.” Sherlock said, not looking her in the face.

Emma smiled, “Thank you, Da.” As the needle pierced her skin, Sherlock’s eyes shot to her face, shocked. Emma winced, but the smile remained, “I have your eyes.”

“Clever girl.” Sherlock said softly, pushing the plunger down.

Kate showered kisses on her daughter’s face, “Oh, sweetheart, I’ll never let you out of my sight ever again. I’m so sorry! Did they hurt you?”

With her mother’s help, Emma shrugged off her bindings, “I’m alright. Missing my meds terribly though!”

Kate laughed, “I bet you are.” Kate stumbled when she tried to pick Emma up, so Sherlock stepped closer, putting his arms under the girl and lifting her from the chair. Kate met Sherlock’s eyes, “Thank you, for finding her. Thank you for bringing back to me the one damn good thing in my life.”

Sherlock looked between her and John, “She’s not the only good thing in your life.”

John smiled, taking Kate’s hand, “You’re right, Sherlock. Enough talk, let’s go home.”

“Home?” Sherlock echoed, like the idea had become something foreign.

John nodded, “Home, to Baker Street. We have two homecomings to celebrate now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please, if you like this, drop a comment! The final chapter is finished!


	4. Blue Wool Coat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kate sets things straight, and Sherlock learns how to be a father.

Sherlock’s second week back, Mrs. Hudson threw a party to celebrate his return as well as Christmas. Emma had spent all day asking Sherlock and Mycroft a million different questions that he really hadn’t wanted to answer, and he actually felt tired. He’d excused himself, unsurprised to sense someone following him to his bedroom.

He was surprised to see Kate in the doorway, her deep, ocean blue eyes staring at him, “I’m happy you’re home.”

Sherlock sneered at her, “How could you possibly be? You don’t know me.”

Kate nodded empathetically, moving to sit on his bed. “I’m happy because John is happy.” He stared at her, so she continued. “And I’m happy because Emma will get to know her father.”

“I’m not her father. That implies some sort of paternal capability. I don’t do well with children. She’s got John.” Sherlock said firmly.

“You are her father. God, she’s already your biggest fan. I’ve never seen her so happy as I have these last two weeks. You spare her a second glance, and she grins for hours. That’s the first step in being her father.” Kate nodded studiously, crossing her legs, “You’re right, she’s got John, and she loves him dearly, I love him dearly. But without you, he’s been half a person. I’ve never had all of John, but at least I’m not sharing him with a dead man.”

“Sharing?”

Kate laughed harshly, “You’re both so blind! John’s in love with you! And you’re in love with him.”

“I don’t understand love.” Sherlock said as she stood and approached him with the well practiced gait of a jungle cat.

Kate was an inch taller than John, Sherlock noticed vaguely as she pushed him back onto the bed. “What are you doing?” He said breathlessly.

“I’m going to prove to you that you do know what love is.” Kate said, kissing him on one of his razor sharp cheeks, “Stay here, m’kay?” His mind was trying to decide which of the countless scenarios Kate was going to follow through with.

In the main room of her aunt’s flat, Kate interrupted John, who was in conversation with Molly, “Sorry, love, can I snag you for a minute?”

“Sure.” John said, giving Molly a small smile. John’s pace grew slower as she led him to Sherlocks’ bedroom, “Kate, what are you up to?” Kate spun in a flurry of blonde curls, and jumped him. Fingers in his hair, she pressed him against the wall, snogging him senseless. Kate was young, and in general voracious, but it wasn’t often that she’d attacked him like that. John chuckled when she pulled back. “Alright then.”

Kate smiled proudly, highly aware that all the blood in John’s body was diverting to his groin. “Fabulous.” She opened the door to Sherlock’s room and dragged him inside by his cardigan. Sherlock blinked at the pair, and John stared back at him. Kate pushed John towards Sherlock, “Figure it out.”

John spluttered in confusion, “Kate, what?”

Kate wiped her reddened lips and crossed her arms, “You two have hardly spoken since Sherlock came back. It’s driving me crazy, and I think this might be the only option.”

Sherlock narrowed his eyes at her, “You’ve spoken with Irene.”

Kate flushed, “Perhaps...yes, yes, she’s a treat. Your phone rang, I picked it up when it started making those obscene noise with Emma in the room. We got to talking, and she’s got all three of us pegged.” Sherlock snorted at her word choice, but John stepped away from the both of them. “John, if you two don’t talk, I’m going to scream until my throat bleeds. I-shit, I’m twenty-five, but I have this unreasonable urge to snog both of you.”

“What?” The men said in unison.

Kate was shaking, “I-I can’t help it. John, I love you, and I think I’m starting to fall for Sherlock. That doesn’t make sense because he’s a right arse most of the time, but he’s brilliant, and I could listen to him read the bloody phone book. It doesn’t help that since he showed back up, my brain has been filling in some of the blanks of the night Emma came into existence, you two aren’t speaking, and I can’t, I just can’t.”

John stared at the woman he’d fallen in love with, and suddenly understood what she was trying to accomplish. No doubt, Irene had given her a hard script, but it was obvious Kate had detoured the instant Sherlock had deduced the domme’s involvement. “You want it to be the three of us.”

“Yes.” Kate said quietly.

“I don’t do relationships.” Sherlock said steadfastly.

Kate glared at him, “You do too, you’re just too damned stubborn for your own good. Honestly, had you tried, John would have let you bugger him years ago.”

John gapped at his fiancee, “I what?”

“Irene didn’t have to tell me that. I see the way you look at him when you think either of us aren’t looking. Sherlock does the same.” Kate spoke softly, eyes downcast. “I think it would be better for all three of us if we just saw where things took us.”

“Let’s test your theory.” Sherlock said, grabbing John much like Kate had, settling the smaller man between his long legs and kissing him heatedly, hands on either side of John’s head, holding him still.

John grunted at first, his fingers gripped on Sherlock’s shirt, trying to push him away. He relaxed slightly when Kate stood next to them, putting a gentle hand over one of Sherlock’s, slotting her fingers between Sherlock’s so both men could feel her. Instinctually, Sherlock’s fingers tightened around hers, and John reached out to grab her other hand, giving her a side glare that only made her smile, despite the fact that his expression told of one hell of an upcoming row.

Sherlock swiftly moved from John to Kate, using his contact with her hand to pin her to the wall with a thud. He grinned down at her, an almost evil look on his face, “You are trouble.”

Kate giggled, “I’ve been told that before.” Sherlock disproved then all the disparaging remarks Irene had made about his kissing, and reaffirmed all the foggy memories Kate had of their one summer night together. “Dear God!” Kate exclaimed once Sherlock finally let her breath, “Sherlock, not all of us are Gods among men. Some of us have to breath.”

John chuckled, winded, “Tell me about it.”

The trio stared breathlessly at one another, interrupted by a timid knock on the door. Mrs. Hudson’s voice came through the wood, “Sherlock, dear, are you alright? I came up to get more bubbly and heard knocking on the wall.”

Kate threw a hand over her mouth to stop herself from giggling hysterically, and Sherlock opened the door a crack to look at her aunt, “Yes, Mrs. Hudson, just fine. I was putting some things in their place.”

John tucked Kate under his arm, whispering, “You are trouble.”

She couldn’t hold back her giggle. “Katie? What are you doing in there?”

Kate slipped from John’s grasp and ducked under Sherlock’s arm, “Oh...uh, Sherlock and I were just discussing a few things about the future.”

“Discussing?” Mrs. Hudson echoed, looking between them, noting their swollen lips and Kate’s mussed hair. She frowned, “Oh, Katie, you’ll break poor John’s heart. And Sherlock, you come back from the dead and lure my impressionable young niece into adultery. Why I’d ought to take you both over my knee.”

John emerged from Sherlock’s other side, “Uh...Mrs. Hudson, I’m right here.”

“Oh...” Mrs. Hudson said, looking between the three of them, particularly the swatch of pink lip gloss to the side of John’s mouth where Kate had marked him with her first kisses and Sherlock had succeeded to smear with his own. She blinked slowly a few times, and put on a pleasant smile, “Well, we do get all sorts ‘round here. Mrs. Turner’s not the only one that’s got some.” She frowned at Kate, “Oh, Katie, your mother would have disapproved so.”

Kate rolled her eyes, “My Mum was having an affair with the chauffeur. She would hardly judge me for what I’m doing.”

Mrs. Hudson’s eyebrows jerked up, “Oh, well good for Jessie, at least she lived a little.”

“Auntie, my mother lived a lot. She made the best of what she had, and I intend to do the same.” Kate said, looking at her aunt levelly.

Mrs. Hudson sighed, “Well, John and Sherlock here are certainly better than that awful man you call your father.”

Kate left the safety of the heat Sherlock exuded and took her aunt’s hand, “Come on, Auntie, let’s get that bubbly.” She glanced back at the men, saying sternly, “Figure it out.”

“She’s an extraordinary young woman.” Sherlock told John.

John nodded, “Yeah, and how she can figure out something I’ve been struggling with for years in two weeks.”

Sherlock chuckled haughtily, “I wouldn’t engage in coitus with just anyone, John.”

“You are so full of yourself.” John grumbled, 100% done with Sherlock for the evening.

Sherlock however, had other plans, “I would engage in coitus with you, John.” John burst into hysterical laughter, and it continued for so long that Sherlock vaguely worried he’d broken the doctor.

“How long?” John stammered, wheezing.

“From the moment you told me that I was amazing.” Sherlock said honestly.

“All these years, and you’ve never said anything?” John whispered, looking at the younger man in a new light.

Sherlock pulled out a blue plaid robe from his dresser. “Until half an hour ago, you were still fully determined that you were a straight man and nothing else. I enjoy coitus with men more than women, but given the right woman, I’ll be a very happy man. I lack the ability to give most women the romance and frivolity they want. Kate on the other hand, wants nothing more from me than sex and for me to attempt to act as a father to Emma. I’m hopeful I can complete both tasks.”

“You do realize you just said you plan on having sex with my fiancee, don’t you?” John said.

“I also implied that you would join us. After all, Kate does desire the romance and frivolity. She’s a woman after all. You can split your time between romancing her and helping me with cases.” Sherlock said, shrugging on the robe.

John gapped at him, “I do have a job.”

Sherlock sneered, “Well now you have three.”

“Sometimes, I loathe you.” John growled.

Sherlock nodded, “I’m not unused to that.” He looked solemn, “You’ll need to help me with something though.”

“What?”

“Emma.” Sherlock said simply.

“What about her?”

“I haven’t the best rapport with children. I’ve avoided her as long as I can. Any further avoidance will have possible negative implications into any future relationship.” He said, pursing his lips.

John chuckled, “Sherlock, she’s just like you. For once, you can actually be yourself.”

Sherlock chuckled too, “Be myself. I think I can manage that.”

Two and a half months later, when she wasn’t at school proving just how much smarter she was than the average eight year old, he and Emma were nearly inseparable.

Donovan stared at the little girl in a blue wool coat at Sherlock’s side, “Who’s kid did you steal, Holmes?”

One corner of Sherlock’s mouth twitched up, “Donovan, this is Emma. If you really care to know, she is my daughter.”

Emma gave a shy smile, sticking close to Sherlock, “Hullo.”

Donovan looked mystified, and Sherlock glared at her, his hand tightening unconsciously around Emma’s, “Emma, this shouldn’t take long. Unfortunately, not all police are as competent as Lestrade.”

Emma glanced over to Anderson, “That bloke seems to think her proficient.”

Sherlock quirked a small smile, unceasingly pleased by her aptitude, “Ah, yes. That would be Anderson. He and Detective Donovan sometimes engage in adult activities.” Emma wrinkled her nose, and Sherlock led her inside. He stood her against a wall and held a finger in front of her, “Do not speak to either of them. Stay.”

Emma came with him anyway. “I’m not a dog you know.” She said as she struggled to keep up with him as he climbed the stairs.

“Yes, I am aware that as my child, you are not canine.” Sherlock responded. “However, your mother isn’t going to be happy I’ve got you at a crime scene. We’ll say I took you for ice cream.”

“I don’t like ice cream.”

“Frozen custard then.”

“That’ll do.” Emma replied with a grin.

Lestrade was waiting at the top of the stairs. He shot a smile to Emma, “Good morning, Miss Tyler...”

“Holmes.” Sherlock interjected. He had insisted Kate change Emma’s name the day after they’d resumed coitus. Kate may have been married John, but Emma was his daughter. It hadn’t hurt that Sherlock took great pride in the fact that he’d been able to pass on his name and intelligence. As a group, they decided that would be easiest. After all, no one but Mycroft, Molly, Lestrade, and Mrs. Hudson knew the truth of Sherlock’s relationship to John and Kate. 

Lestrade ignored him, “What are you doing here?”

Emma smiled, giving the detective a quick hug, “Da is going to show me a dead body!”

Donovan grunted from behind them, “Oh, she’s a freak too. Wonderful.”

Emma shot the woman a glare, backed up by a similar expression from her father, “Donovan, you are no longer permitted to speak in the vicinity of my child. Emma, you are henceforth to ignore Donovan. She might lower your IQ.”

Lestrade burst into full bodied laughter while Sally looked horrified. “Freaks!” She yelled, going back down the stairs.

Emma regarded her retreating form, “Da, I think Mum won’t like it, but I agree with you. That woman is highly unpleasant.”

Lestrade gave the girl a squeeze, “Oh, Emma. Your mother might murder Sally if she knew she’d called you that.”

Sherlock gave a speculative smirk, “While I think Kate’s reaction would be negative, she’s not quite so ready to take a life as some. John on the other hand, would have more lethal ideations. He is quite protective of our daughter.”

“Where is John anyway?” Lestrade asked. Even with Kate and Emma in the picture, it was unusual to see Sherlock without his Watson.

Emma giggled, “He and Mum are at the clinic.” She stretched onto her tiptoes, and whispered rather loudly, “Mum thinks I’m going to be a big sister!”

Lestrade chuckled at the look on the girl’s face. Sometimes, she acted just like Sherlock, and at other times, she acted just like any other eight year old girl. “Really? That’s exciting.”

Sherlock on the other hand looked peeved, “Yes, it is, but John is insistent that if Kate is indeed pregnant, that, as a resident of 221B Baker Street and someone who engages in coitus with Kate regularly, I will be expected to assist in rearing any resulting children. I do not fancy changing nappies. At least with Emma no nappies were involved. At this age, she’s actually somewhat useful.”

Emma curled up against Sherlock’s side, her head hardly reaching his waist as she hugged him, “I love you, Da.”

Sherlock’s left eye twitched, but he put one of his large hands on her head, and said softly, “I find I very much like your presence too, Emma.”

Lestrade watched the girl, but nothing on her face showed that Sherlock’s refusal to say the word ‘love’ had bothered her at all. She knew just as Lestrade did, that even though Sherlock didn’t say the word, he really did love her. When he looked at Emma, every emotion was there on his face, pride, possessiveness, and love. Lestrade was certain that the next people who tried to take Emma from her home would meet a very bloody end at Sherlock’s hands. He wasn’t certain, however, as to how Sherlock would have reacted to her had she not been brilliant in her own right.

Emma was so much more empathetic than Sherlock was though, and tugged on Lestrade’s hand. “Come on, we’ll be fine,” she said, looking up at him, her eyes relaying what she really meant. They were alike, her and her father. Only Emma wasn’t afraid, not like Sherlock was. She’d been taunted for her brain, but unlike Sherlock, she’d had her mother to shelter her, and John when there was nothing her mother could do. Greg could see it in her eyes, the determination to be better than anyone else.

Greg laughed, ruffling the girl’s red hair, “You sure will be, won’t you?”

Emma smiled, “Of course we will.”

Greg looked Sherlock in the eyes, “She’s a joy, you know? You’d best keep hold of her. There’ll be a boy scooping her up in no time.”

Sherlock scowled, “No, no there will not be. Honestly, Lestrade, she’s eight years old. The average age of intercourse for females in the United Kingdom is fifteen, we’ve got several years to worry about Emma galavanting around with boys.”

The horrified look on Emma’s face was priceless, and even Sherlock gave a half smile. Greg shook his head, “Emma, I do not envy any young lads who come after you.”

They were coming out of the crime scene ten minutes later, Emma holding Sherlock’s hand when a black car pulled up. Anthea got out, “Sherlock, Emma. Mycroft requests your presence for dinner at Holmes Manor tonight.”

Sherlock resisted the urge to snatch the woman’s phone from her hands. “And he sent you instead of calling?”

Anthea glanced up, a small smile on her face, “I’m to take you both back to 221B, and wait outside to take you, Emma’s mother, and Mr. Watson to the manor.”

“And what if I don’t want my daughter anywhere near that place?” Sherlock snapped.

Anthea’s smile turned severe, “I’ve been told to use force if necessary. Mummy Holmes is very unhappy that not only have you been back from the dead for three months now and haven’t gone to see her, but also that she’s yet to meet her first grandchild.”

“We’re walking.” Sherlock said stubbornly.

The black car kept pace with them as they walked, and Emma giggled, “Da, why are we walking?”

“Because, Anthea is tenacious, she would stop any cab we would hail.” Sherlock explained. “Would you like that frozen custard now?”

Emma laughed, “Mum’s right, you live to make things difficult for everyone else.”

“Your mother is a smart woman.” Sherlock said, holding the door to the custard shop open for her. Sherlock watched her eat in silence, texting Lestrade his latest epiphany on the case. Anthea stood by the door, smiles gone, a cross expression on her face. Sherlock genuinely smiled when Emma made a jovial comment about Anthea’s displeasure. Ah, yes, she was just like him.

They stopped in a park, and Sherlock let her run off some of the energy she’d inherited from both him and Kate. Once she’d gotten herself flushed, she skid to a stop next to him. He looked down at her, “Emma, tell me what you see.”

“Humanity.” Emma answered instantaneously.

He shook his head, a half smile on his face, “What else? Pick someone, tell me about them.”

Emma scanned the crowd with his eyes, choosing carefully, “The man over there, taking pictures, he’s in a custody battle with his ex-wife. The little boy with the red trainers, that’s his son he’s not allowed to see, the blonde woman is the boy’s nanny. She knows his father is taking pictures, but she feels bad, so she’s keeping the boy in sight so his father can see him. In the end, he’ll win sole custody. The boy’s mother hits him.”

Sherlock grinned in satisfaction, “You brilliant girl, you.” Emma beamed up at him, thrilled by his praise, and for once, he didn’t feel at all like a freak. He felt like any ordinary father sharing a skill with his daughter. Most fathers taught their daughters to ride bikes though, not deduce everything around them. Then again, he and Emma were decidedly not 'ordinary'. They were Holmes'.

“Holmes Manor it is than.” He said, turning, holding a hand out, calling, “Holmes Manor, Anthea!”

Anthea smiled wryly from her post halfway between them and the black car, “Baker Street first, then the manor.”

“Fabulous.” Sherlock said, watching carefully as Emma entered the car.

Anthea stopped him, “I heard what she said, about that man. She’s marvelous.”

“She got one thing wrong.” Sherlock said, feeling pride well up in his chest, “The little boy has no mother, the person hitting him is his other father. The man taking the photographs is dissolving a civil partnership with another man, not a woman.”

“One thing?” Anthea said, shaking her head, “She’s eight years old, Sherlock. That makes her more frightening than Mycroft on a diet.” Sherlock couldn’t find anything wrong with her statement, so he slid silently into the car, secretly thrilled when Emma snaked her hand into his and rested her head on his arm. They remained that way, in silence, all the way back to 221B Baker Street.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last chapter is almost done, I've just got to write the dinner with Mummy Holmes! Anything you guys would like to see there? Let me know what you think in a comment please!
> 
> Thanks for reading!  
> -Jenn


	5. 221B Baker Street

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Five "slices of life" from the Holmes-Watson clan! Enjoy!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter!

Kate tugged on the hem of her dress again. “Are you sure your mother won’t be put off by this? It’s awfully short.” It wasn’t, not really, dusting about mid knee as opposed to mid thigh like so many of her other dresses.

“You look nice.” John supplied.

Kate scoffed, “Nice? Nice! Not helping, John!”

“I think what he means is that if Anthea weren’t downstairs waiting with Emma, that he would very much like to ravage you.” Sherlock said, straightening his tie for the hundredth time. “I would too.”

Kate made a face at him, full of the sarcasm she employed so often, “Oh, thanks, Sherlock, for clearing that up. I don’t care how randy this dress makes you sorry excuses for men. I want to know if your mother will hate it or not.”

“She’ll find some reason to hate you, Kate. It’s what she does, but I’m fairly certain your dress won’t be what she hates.” Sherlock told her, heading down the stairs.

Kate screeched in frustration, and John rubbed his hands down her bare arms, “Love, calm down. You look lovely, as always. Let’s go meet the dragon mum together.”

“Would it be terrible to use Emma as a shield?” Kate asked halfway down the stairs.

John laughed, “Sounds like a plan to me.”

Mummy Holmes was an imposing woman. Sherlock obviously got his cheekbones and height from her. It was only John’s grip on her arm that kept Kate from bolting.

Throughout dinner, Mummy disparaged them all. Fortunately the only thing she said about Emma was how ostentatious her hair color was. Mycroft had come to her defense and reminded his mother that his own hair had once been that color. She’d then lit into him about how his diets were obviously failing him miserably as he was larger than she’d seen him in years.

She’d insulted Sherlock one too many times, and Kate lost it. “Enough!” She yelled, standing suddenly, pushing her chair off balance, causing it to nearly topple over. Emma squeaked, and all three men stared at her in shock.

Mummy raised an eyebrow, “Pardon?”

Kate was shaking in rage. “No wonder they act the way they do, with you as a mother. Did you ever once praise them?”

“I did not coddle my children.”

“Praise is not coddling if it’s deserved. Mycroft, he practically is the government, Sherlock’s done more to keep London safe than anyone, and they still aren’t good enough for you!” Kate took a breath, “They’re both fabulous, brilliant men, and you should be proud to be their mother instead of being such a foul creature to them. It’s no wonder both of them are incapable of properly expressing their emotions. You never let them! I won’t let you do that to my daughter.”

John nodded, patting one of Kate’s arms, “Nicely put, love. You should calm down though.”

She sat back down, suddenly faint, “I think I’m going to be sick.”

John cared for Kate, who had gone bolting for the nearest loo, while Mummy Holmes smiled at Sherlock, “Oh, Sherly, I like her very much. She’ll do.” She paused for a moment, “Now straighten your tie, you’re a Holmes, not a streetwalker. Hopefully this baby is a Holmes too.” The three younger Holmes didn’t bother to ask how she’d know Kate was pregnant, it would have been rhetorical anyway. It would be a large task to figure out which Holmes was most intelligent, one no one would dare undertake.  
\--------  
Seven months later, Sherlock was baffled by the squirming form in John’s arms, Emma bouncing excitedly at his side. “It’s a boy!” John said proudly.

Molly was at his side cooing at the baby in an instant, “He’s adorable! How’s Kate?”

“Good, she’s good. Tired though.” John said breathlessly. His eyes found Sherlock and Emma, “Come have a look, will you?” Sherlock had been in the room, but after he announced that Kate’s doctor was an alcoholic, Kate had had John kick him out.

Emma, clutching her father’s hand, rushed forward, forcing him to come with her. “Look, Da! I’ve got a baby brother!”

Sherlock looked at the tiny baby. He was pink and wrinkled, but numerous things were obvious. First, he had Kate’s eyes, second, he had John’s nose and chin. And of course, Sherlock instantly felt the smallest tug in his gut. For the last months, he’d silently worried that he wouldn’t be able to connect in some way with the newest 221 Baker Street. He instantly knew his fears had been unfounded. He met Emma’s gaze, and saw that she’d known all along. She was a clever little girl.

“Congratulations, John.” Sherlock said stiffly, allowing Emma to ooh and aww over the baby without him lurking so close.

“Papa, what’s his name?” Emma asked, wincing comically at the baby’s grip on her finger.

“Hamish Watson.” John said proudly, leaning slightly to kiss the top of Emma’s head.

It was two months before Sherlock found himself completely alone with little Hamish. He’d practically begged John not to leave him, “Sherlock, you’ll be fine. There’s bottles in the fridge, you know where the nappies are, and Kate is right downstairs at Speedy’s. Emma, we have to go now!”

The redhead skid into the room and kissed Sherlock’s cheek before kissing Hamish’s forehead, “Bye, Da! Love you, Haim!”, and running after John.

The first trouble came when a smell rivaling the middle stages of decomposition began emanating from the infant. “Nappies.” Sherlock said, spitting the word like a curse.

He took hold of a clean wad of plastic and manufactured fiber and tried to remember how to execute the task John and Kate seemed to do effortlessly. Mimicking several of the fights he’d had in 221B over the years, Sherlock not only managed to change the nappie, but also managed to get urinated on twice by the infant. The next time Hamish defecated, a whole ten minutes later, Sherlock just took him to the loo and stripped the both of them. The third nappie lasted considerably longer, and by the fifth, Sherlock had figured out how to do it without letting the little imp urinate on him or the furniture.

Six hours later, Kate came home from her shift, and instantly started taking pictures with her camera phone. John came up the stairs behind her, “Hello, love. What’s...?”

“Shh!” Kate hissed, standing aside in the doorway, whispering, “Look.”

John stood next to his wife of a year, and couldn’t stop a smile from overtaking his face, “Would you look at that.”

Sherlock was on his sofa, hair damp, Hamish on his chest, a hand protectively on the baby’s back, and both fast asleep. Soundlessly, Emma slipped by her mother and Papa, and ever so carefully draped herself between Hamish and the sofa on top of Sherlock. The tall man stirred slightly, but he subconsciously recognized the weight of his daughter settling on him and settled, heaving a tired sigh.

Kate and John watched, holding one another, as the trio slept on peacefully. They roused them for dinner, but Sherlock refused to eat...or let Hamish go to either of the other two adults, “I’m alright.”

Kate narrowed her eyes playfully, “You’re not using my son for an experiment, are you?”

The corner of Sherlock’s mouth twitched up, “No, I’m not. I’m simply proving to myself that I’m capable at parenting an infant.”

Kate ruffled Sherlock’s clean dark curls and kissed him gently, “You’re doing fabulously. I have complete faith in you. The real trouble comes when they become mobile.”  
\--------  
She was right, four year old Hamish was into everything. When she wasn’t at school, it was Emma’s job to chase the small child around 221 and wear him down. She was rather good at it too, always coming up with new games to exhaust the child, but she’d gone to a friend’s after school, leaving Sherlock with Hamish all afternoon.

“No, Hamish, don’t touch.” Sherlock said, not even looking at the boy as he pulled a bottle of chemicals out of the child’s reach. In retaliation, Hamish climbed onto the counter and started stirring a jar of eyeballs with a spoon his mother had used to stir her tea before she’d gone to work.

Putting the book he was reading down, Sherlock took the spoon from Hamish and screwed the lid onto the jar. Tears welled up in Hamish’s blue-grey eyes, and Sherlock couldn’t help but to chuckle, “Tears don’t work on me, Hamish.”

Hamish scowled, but the tears dried up. “I wanna help.”

“I want to help.” Sherlock corrected.

Hamish nodded enthusiastically, “I wanna help!”

Sherlock stared at the boy, ceaselessly frustrated with his toddler colloquialisms. Sometimes, he’d spend a great deal of time correcting and re-correcting Hamish’s speech, but Kate was already cross with him for failing to go to the grocers as she’d asked the day earlier. Ignoring the horror of the boy’s language in favor of not angering John as well, Sherlock held out an arm and asked, “Would you like to make custard?”

“Custard? Like Auntie?” Hamish asked, scrambling into Sherlock’s offered hold.

Sherlock nodded, putting the eyeballs back in the fridge with the four-year-old on his hip. “Yes, Hamish. At least until Lestrade or Molly call, that is.”

“I wanna go see Miss Molly!” Hamish bellowed excitedly.

Sherlock shook his head, not understanding the child’s logic. “Custard or Molly?” He asked, hoping the child would choose Molly, because he had no idea how to make custard. Mrs. Hudson had shown him once, but he’d put the details out of his head. Unimportant. Also, the probability of all the ingredients being in the flat were slim to none. In all likelihood, eggs and milk had been on the list he’d neglected.

“Molly!” Hamish screeched after a great deal of animated though.

Sherlock’s response was cut off when Emma stormed up the stairs yelling, “leave me alone!” as she went up to the room that had once been John’s, but had been hers for the last few years, and slammed the door.

“What’s wrong with sissy?” Hamish asked.

“I have no idea.” Sherlock responded.

John came into view, instantly glaring at Sherlock, “This is your fault.”

“I wasn’t aware I’d angered anyone today.” Sherlock said, setting Hamish down so he could run at John.

John spared a smile for their son, “Hello, mate. Have you and Da had a good day?”

Hamish nodded, “We’re going to make custard!”

John arched an eyebrow at Sherlock, “Custard?”

Sherlock shrugged, putting some of his experiments back in the fridge, “Last I was informed, we were going to visit Molly.” They watched Hamish run clumsily to Emma’s room, chortling about custard and Molly. “What’s the matter with Emma?”

“Kate told her she couldn’t go to a party, so she came to me. I told her no too.” John explained, walking slowly towards Sherlock.

Sherlock frowned, “Why didn’t she ask me?”

John laughed, “Because you would have told her to ask us!”

“True.” Sherlock said, holding deathly still while John kissed him. He let the older man think he was in control, and allowed himself to bump against the wall. He opened his eyes and saw Kate in the doorway, a mischievous smile on her face.

John spun and grabbed her before she could sneak up on him all the way, and she shrieked. “Bugger!”

John laughed, “I was in the army, love.”

Sherlock joined the laughter, the sound deep and rolling, “He had bad days.”

Kate giggled, “Is that so?”

John fixed Sherlock with a wry, knowing grin, “Very bad days.”  
\---------  
Four years later, Sherlock was alone with both children. Emma was seventeen, and they were rattling back and forth about a case Sherlock had gotten on. Emma had just made an outrageously unwarranted deduction when he turned his head to look at her, and slammed right into a phone box.

“Bugger!” Sherlock exclaimed, rubbing his jaw. He hazard a glance to the children. Emma was stifling giggles, but Hamish was smiling wryly, just like his father.

“A bit not good, Da.” The boy finally said with an impish giggle. Sherlock narrowed his eyes and swept the child off his feet, continuing his walk with a hiccuping child having a fit of laughter hanging over his shoulder, his daughter at his side, smiling broadly.

Mrs. Hudson was on the stoop, “Oh, Sherlock, all the blood’s rushed to his head.”

Sherlock sat Hamish on his feet and watched his landlady fuss over the children, straightening Hamish’s knit vest and fixing a few of Emma’s wayward curls. Eight year old Hamish looked just like John, and acted just like him too. Emma on the other hand, had turned into a rather lovely young woman. Her hair had darkened considerably over the years, but seemed to have settled recently at a very dark red just a few shades from Sherlock’s own color. In other words, her hair was just light enough to still appear red instead of black. Mycroft had been far too pleased by that. Her face was round like Kate’s, but sharp cheekbones and eyes from Sherlock gave her an air of mystery that would serve her well in the future. In the same minute, she could be as cold as Sherlock, and as empathetic as her mother, all depending on how she shifted her jaw.

Over the years, he’d studied every detail of his children. He knew that Emma’s seizures had dwindled to perhaps once a year or so, and would shortly stop all together. He knew that Hamish had a terrifying tendency to hold his breath in his sleep too. On nights he didn’t sleep, too busy putting his superior intellect to use, Sherlock would tie himself to the real world by listening to the steady sounds of the boy’s breathing. When the breaths would stop, so would Sherlock, waiting for Hamish to start up again. He was always fine, never missed more than a couple of breaths, but every time, Sherlock felt his chest tighten unwillingly, the feeling not abating until Hamish was breathing again. The short apneas didn’t seem to worry John, who said such short pauses were hardly anything unusual, but they worried Sherlock more than anything.

That was except for when Emma brought boys home. Thus far, Sherlock detested every male Emma brought through the door of 221B, and none had lasted through dinner. Sherlock made sure of that, and it was worth Emma’s ire to keep her safe from the terrible boys she brought home. John and Kate had even stopped chastising him about it. It also helped that John had been the one to throw the last ingrate out for nicking some of Mrs. Hudson’s china whilst he was supposed to be in the loo.

For all Emma’s brilliance, she certainly liked that bad boys. She still protested that Cole, the head of the book club hadn’t been up to any trouble, and Sherlock tended to agree. The boy had, however been far too interested in Sherlock. They would never tell her, but young Cole had tried to kiss Sherlock while Emma was downstairs with her mother and great aunt. John had punched the boy and sent him on his way. The others, Sherlock had chased off by deducing them at the dinner table. They’d been too weak minded for his daughter.  
\--------  
Eight years later, Emma was trying to keep her brother out of trouble. “Haim, shut it.”

Hamish William Ian Watson glared at his older sister, “I’m just saying, it couldn’t hurt for both of us to be there.”

Emma wrung her hands, “If I take you to a crime scene, Mum will kill me.”

Hamish chuckled, “Ems, I won’t tell her if you won’t.”

“That’s how it all starts, Haim. You say that, and then I’m taking bullets into my vest for you.” Emma Holmes said sternly to her little brother, checking the holster on her hip.

“I’m sixteen, Ems. You were doing stakeouts and going to crime scenes with Da before you were ten.” Hamish argued, pulling on his coat anyway.

The half-siblings glared at one another, but as usual, Emma’s regal cheek bones beat out Hamish’s boyish face. “Exactly my point, you’re only sixteen.”

“No, what you really mean is I’m only Watson smart, not Holmes smart. I’m not stupid, Emma.” Hamish hissed.

“I didn’t say that!” Emma objected.

Hamish scoffed, “You didn’t have to! I know you’re thinking it!”

They both turned when they felt Sherlock approach. “What’s all this noise about?”

“Emma’s going to a crime scene.” Hamish blurted.

Sherlock sighed, it wasn’t the first time the two youngest inhabitants of 221 Baker Street had gone through the same discussion, although it was a first for the middle of the night. Sherlock dutifully repeated the words John gad told him to say, “Hamish, Emma is a police detective now. It’s her job to go to crime scenes. Your job is to finish school.”

Hamish’s cheeks flushed red in the soft light, “What if I don’t want to finish school?”

Emma sighed much like her father had, “Hamish, you’re too smart not to get an education. I have no idea why you want to be a detective so badly.”

Hamish stuttered a few times, flustered, “I--I, uh, It’s the family business.”

Emma hugged her little brother, “No, Haim, the family business is helping people. I never could have made it as a doctor, you can, and we both know why.”

Hamish smiled in spite of himself, “Because your bedside manner sucks.”

Sherlock smirked, running a hand through his messy dark hair, the silvery strands of age reflecting sparsely in the moon light, “An unfortunate trait she picked up from me. Fortunately, you’ve got your Mum and Papa’s good humor. Emma’s just got enough not to be seen as a sociopath. We all have our own assets, that’s why this family works. You can handle things Emma and I can’t.”

The three sobered slightly, all remembering the hell that had been the year long saga six years ago when John had been diagnosed with testicular cancer. Emma and Sherlock had both completely detached. In a way, Emma had become even more like her father then. Faced with the chance of losing John, they’d retreated into each other. They wouldn’t speak for weeks, and Kate had most often found them curled up on the sofa together, clutching each other, retreating to their own Mind Palaces with only their physical contact holding them to the real world.

As John had gotten better, so had they, and when he was declared to be completely in remission with astronomical odds against reoccurrence, they both behaved as if nothing had ever happened. Sherlock and his Watson were back to the roles of consulting detective and blogger.

Sherlock seemed to erase the whole incident while Emma was overridden by guilt that she’d left her mother and brother to handle everything on their own. She’d been less unresponsive than her father, but still, she’d left the care-taking to her mother and then nine year old brother. For them, it was easier to pretend that nothing was wrong. And for the most part, John had been in good spirits, had only spent maybe three weeks in total in any sort of truly diminished capacity, but those three weeks, Sherlock and Emma had clung to each other as only they could.

Kate pattered into the living room, tucking herself under Sherlock’s arm, “What’cha got goin’ here? You three do realize it’s three in the morning.” Emma nodded, and Kate straightened the collar of Sherlock’s robe, “I thought we were done with more than you and Emma being awake at ungodly hours when Hamish finally figured out Santa.”

Hamish looked at his mother, and smiled, shrugging off his coat, “Just wishing Emma good luck with the case she just got called into.”

Kate smiled, moving from Sherlock to embrace her daughter, “Be careful, Em, and tell Greg if he gets you shot, I’ll kill him, painfully. One of these days, he has got to retire.”

“Soon.” Emma replied, her own cheeks flushing as she pulled at her dark red curls.

Sherlock chuckled darkly, and Kate narrowed her eyes at him, “What?”

“Oh, Greg’s retiring, and Greg Lestrade Junior will be taking his place.” Sherlock said teasingly in his daughter’s direction.

“He is not Greg Junior. His name is Julian, and he happens to be very smart.” Emma said defensively.

Sherlock scoffed, “You’re undoubtably far superior to him.”

“Da!” Emma cried.

Kate laughed, “Bring him by for supper, Emma.”

“We’ll see.” Emma rolled her eyes at the scheming look on her father’s face, “I swear, if you lot keep scaring off all my prospects, I’m going to end up alone!”

Hamish shrugged, “I’ll be with you, Ems.”

“And you remember that, Haim. Every Holmes needs a Watson.” Emma said, squeezing her brother tightly. “If you really want, I’ll be glad to have you as my partner someday.”

“What about Julian?” Hamish teased.

“Stop it, you.” Emma groused, shoving him good naturedly.

“You should get going before Uncle Greg calls and wakes up Papa.” Hamish advised.

Emma nodded, “See you Haim, bye Mum, bye Da!”

Hamish trotted back up the stairs to his room, and Kate slid her hand into one of Sherlock’s, unsurprised when he remained stiff. “Come back to bed, love.”

Sherlock stared at his daughter’s retreating form, “I don’t know how to let her go.”

Kate pulled him down by the collar of his shirt and kissed him. He wasn’t one to return kisses if he wasn’t in the mood, but she used the kisses to get his attention. “Sherlock, you’ll figure it out. After all, you’re the smartest man I know.”

He looked at the woman heatedly, calculating all the ways their relationship could have gone wrong and marveling at how incredibly lucky he and John were. She had turned forty-two two months ago, but she was just as lovely as she’d been when he’d first laid eyes on her. And not even Sherlock Holmes could have predicted the effect the blonde woman would have on him. “Smartest man you know? I’ll be sure to tell John that.” Sherlock told her, an impish smile on his face as he scooped her up, taking great delight in the shrieks she attempted to stifle as he carried his Kate back to his Watson. “Needless to say. Lestrade will have to find another son should his ever come home with our daughter. I’m quite capable of making him disappear. Mycroft will help.”

Kate sagged over his shoulder, “I think you’ll have to fight John for that.”

“For what?” John asked, blinking sleepily at his wife and partner.

“Emma has suggested that she might bring Lestrade’s son home to meet the family.” Sherlock explained, tossing Kate onto their king sized bed. “The idea has upset Kate terribly, I believe she is in need of rigorous consoling.”

John arched an eyebrow. “Is that so?”

“Yes.” Sherlock said assuredly, unbuttoning the shirt he’d gone to sleep in. “I’m bored.”

Kate shared a fond smile with her husband, “Will you ever just admit you’re randy?”

“Never.”

“You are so stubborn.” Kate said, laying back after working her way under the covers.

John snuggled against her warmth, “Sherlock, it’s too early in the morning.”

Sherlock huffed, “You weren’t saying that two nights ago.”

“It’s different tonight.” John said, moving more to the far side of the bed so Sherlock wouldn’t kick him or Kate if he actually got to sleep.

“Different how?” Sherlock said, baffled.

Kate opened one blue eye to glare half heartedly, “We were asleep ten minutes ago.”

“I don’t understand you two.” Sherlock complained, sulkily dropping his blue silk robe and shirt on the floor.

Kate held a hand out to him, “Come to bed, Sherlock.” The tall man grumbled, but slid under the covers to join them. As usual, he lay on his left side facing Kate, one arm draped over her so he could grasp John’s gray hair in his long fingers. “Night, boys.”

“Night, loves.” John whispered, turning his head to kiss Sherlock’s wrist.

Sherlock stared at the both of them, “I still don’t see why we can’t...”

“Sleep, Sherlock.” Kate ordered, and, when he started muttering in protest, she added, “Don’t make me drug you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you guys have enjoyed this little jaunt! Thank you for reading! Let me know what you think!


	6. First Chapter of Sequel Up!!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Intended on putting the prequel up first, but the sequel came faster, so it's up!! As Black As the Night, As Empty as the Hearse!

Just wanted to let everyone know that there are both a prequel and a sequel in progress for this story. The prequel is going to fill in all the history gaps I left in this story, starting with young Kate and Sherlock both leaving Europe to visit America, their interactions in the U.S., and ending with Kate taking seven year old Emma to 221B in the rain.

The sequel will pick up almost directly after the end of this story. I've got the prequel totally outlined on paper, just have to fill all the details and dialogue in. I'll post it when I'm finished and then work on the sequel, which, as outlined in my head, is going to be pretty angsty and have a lot more Greg Lestrade in it.

What do you, my darling readers, want to see?

P.S. I'll remove this chapter when I post the prequel! Here's a little snippit of the prequel though!

\-----------------------

Kate didn’t see him after that. Sure, he watched her from the shadows, mostly to make sure she wasn’t going to come down with some disease that she might pass to him, but also because a very small part of him was concerned. He didn’t want her to end up like him, controlled by the drugs. Well, not controlled...he could stop anytime he wanted, but she was normal.

She wouldn’t be able to.

He was watching her when, higher than a kite, she stumbled into the street and a taxi struck her. He felt sober for the first time in months, and ran to her, the little china doll he’d subconsciously claimed as his. She was unconscious, blood seeping from a wound on her forehead. Head trauma. Possibly severe. She was still breathing though. As the driver finally pulled himself from the car, Sherlock was holding Kate’s head in his hands, stabilizing her neck. “Call an ambulance.” He instructed evenly, adrenaline pushing the remnants of the morning’s drugs out of his system.

He acknowledged the paramedics when they arrived. “Her name is Kate, she’s an English National, and she had this on her.” He handed the paramedic a bag of cocaine. It wasn’t hers, but it would help them figure out how to help her if they knew what drug she was on, so he could live without one bag. He could always buy more.

Skin crawling, Sherlock left the pandemonium of the accident site, confident that she was in more capable hands than his own. It didn’t take him long to find his dealer again so he could fall back into the euphoria and forget all about the redheaded girl.

Hopefully the hospital could do for her what he couldn’t.

She was a good girl after all.

\-----------------------

So we're going to have high/stalkerish Sherlock, but you'll get to read his rationalization for it, promise!

Let me know what you guys think!

-Jenn

**Author's Note:**

> Don't forget to comment! This little fic is almost all written, and Sherlock will be in the third chapter!  
> -Jenn


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